A Shot of Pepto, For You and Your Homies
by a-spot-of-tea
Summary: A sick Nick Miller is unlike anything Jess has ever experienced.


So this is a little idea I had and despite ignoring it for awhile, I decided to write it out in a small fic. I'm thinking it will only be 3 short parts. I love how the writers created these characters and I was just thinking (especially after watching Nick in the haunted house this week) that a one, Mr. Nick Miller would be the world's biggest baby when he was sick but even more so than that. And of course Jess would want to help but get in way over her sweet, daydreaming head. It's meant to be more funny than serious with hopefully some parts that are sweet. Fingers crossed some of y'all like it!

**part 1.**

"_Code Daddy Warbucks_! Code Daddy Warbucks, people! I _repeat_, we are about to get all little orphan Annie'd up in this joint."

Schmidt was running about the apartment manically, a tube of plastic wrap clutched tightly between his palms as he flung the clear spool of sheets over seemingly every visible surface.

Jess watched as Winston's eyes widened with horror. "I don't get it. Are we expecting an orgy?" She glanced down at herself, patting her reindeer printed pajama pants with a look of confusion. "Because I'm _definitely_ not dressed for that."

Both Schmidt and Winston ignored her.

As Schmidt continued his hapless journey of covering their living room from head to toe with a protective layer of plastic, Winston grabbed at his chest over dramatically and began to wheeze. "Code DW – oh _hell_ no, Schmidt. No, no, no. Schmidt, _no_!" He stomped his foot against the ground, head shaking back and forth as his breathing became louder and louder with the intermittent sounds of whines poking through.

All that could be heard was the sound of Schmidt's hand slapping across Winston's cheek. "Get it together, princess. It's here. It's queer. Get used to it."

"Okay, now I'm _really_ confused." Jess' nose crinkled. "What's with the plastic wrap, Schmidt? And why is Winston having a panic attack over a musical about abandoned children that love to sing about the future? A future with sunshine and ginger appreciation?"

Schmidt shuddered, blanching. "_Gingers_."

"Is it true they have no souls?"

"No Winston it is _not_ true," Jess responded heatedly. "Annie had a heart of gold and you can't charm your way into a billionaire's life without a soul, can you?"

Schmidt's eyes rolled. "Trust me Jess, it's not the soul most billionaires are looking for when they're picking up chicks a quarter of their age."

"Fine. Whatever. Can someone please just explain to me what is going on? For starters, what's with all the plastic wrap dude? _Seriously_." She grabbed the near empty tube from Schmidt's hands and shook it in front of his face.

"_This_," Schmidt said with defiance as he snatched the tube back. "This is to protect ourselves from having to have everything in this damn apartment steam cleaned or worse, reupholstered."

"And why do we need to protect ourselves, Schmidt?"

"Because Captain Cheapskate couldn't resist a bargain meal at the all-you-can-eat hot dog stand in the mall today and now he has food poisoning. Word to the wise _Nick_," he raised his voice as he directed it towards Nick's bedroom, "75% off meat that's already been rejected for real food is not a deal! It's a death sentence. A horrible prolonged and painful death sentence."

Jess shrugged. "So Nick has food poisoning. Big deal. I still don't get what's going on."

Winston finally took a moment to breathe, head jerking sharply to face her as his brows arched dangerously. "Big deal? Big deal, Jess? _BIG DEAL_?"

Schmidt placed his hand on Winston's shoulder, glaring at Jess all the while. "Way to go Jess. He was just starting to calm down."

Jess raised her hands, shaking them in frustration. "Calm down from _what_? There is nothing going on here. Nick's going to have a bad night. So what? It's his own stupid fault. I don't understand why we're all standing around freaking out over it. Shouldn't someone just go take him some ginger ale and crackers?"

"You've clearly never been around sick Nick," Schmidt argued.

"Fact. I've seen Nick puke about a hundred times," Jess shot back eagerly, squirming at the excitement her voice at produced. She chewed at her thumbnail self consciously. "Gross but true."

"Gross or true, whatever they may be - that's _drunk_ Nick."

"Okay, so? I still don't see how any of this code nonsense is necessary and why our apartment looks like my grandmother's house." The plastic was starting to mold to the cushions of the couch. Jess' eyes narrowed.

"Because _Jess_," Schmidt explained with a tone of exasperation. "Drunk Nick is a fun happy guy who happens to upchuck once or twice at the end of the night then goes to bed and leaves you alone. Sick Nick, on the other hand, is like being around a diseased animal that just wants to rub it's leaking juices on you. You know how Nick can get. He cries and follows you everywhere and just runs amuck – throwing up on everything in sight."

"It's like he's marking his territory," Winston interrupted, eyes dancing about as he gazed into the distance with a look of disgust. "Like a cat. A gross, mangy, hairball having cat."

"Guys." Jess grinned. "Come on. It can't be that bad."

"Can't be that bad?" Schmidt stared at her incredulously. "Last year he ate too much hummus and crawled into my bed with me and puked all over the quilt my mother knit me as a wee tiny infant. Baby Schmidt was adorable with that thing. It was ruined, Jess. _Ruined_. The worst part was I had locked my door. I have no idea how he got in. He's like a pudgy-bellied ninja when he's sick."

"Sick Nick is a sneaky Nick." Winston nodded, arms crossing against his chest.

"Okay, well you two weirdos can do whatever you want. I'm going to go check on Nick. Which is what you _should've_ been doing instead of running around screaming about Code Daddy Warbucks or whatever." She paused, realization clearly dawning on her. "What does that even have to do with this situation, by the way?"

Schmidt frowned. "Excuse me for trying to lighten this horrific tragedy with the ultimate feel good musical of our time."

"Nothing calms him down like little girls with curls singing heart warming songs," Winston added.

"Soul warming, Winston. Soul _enlightening_," Schmidt corrected, gesturing at his chest. "The type of songs that get you right here."

"Why not call it Code Shirley Temple?" Jess offered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"There will be no negotiations over the code names, Jess!"

"All right, all right. Cool your jets."

Schmidt bristled. "Who says _cool your jets_, anymore, Jess? So passe."

"Fine, keep your jets burning. I think you both are overreacting to this so you just keep doing whatever it is you were doing before and I'll just go make sure Nick isn't dead over there," she said, her voice slightly sarcastic and she motioned her thumb towards Nick's door. "You know. No big deal. Just roommate stuff."

As she shuffled off, both Winston and Schmidt shook their heads – exchanging knowing looks.

"Think she's ready for this?" Winston muttered beneath his breath - a low whistle escaping Schmidt's lips in response.

"Please, Winston. The girl is clearly clueless. She has no idea what type of horror movie awaits her in there. Good thing she's not a virgin or she'd die in the first two minutes. Blam! Kaput."

"You know she's going to try and take care of him like he's a normal person."

"Which he's not."

"Which he's not," Winston agreed. He hesitated. "You think we should help her?"

"You know I would but I really don't want to."

"_Schmidt_ - "

Schmidt sighed, his body tensing with defeat. "_Fine_." He paused, holding up a single finger as he swiveled to face Winston, pointing it directly before his roommate's nose. "But I am not – I repeat _not_, wearing the wig this time. Got it?"

Winston grinned, shaking his head. "Got it."


End file.
